


strange things scare me.

by tukiaa



Category: DARLING In The FRANXX (Anime)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Lesbian Character, F/F, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Gay Panic, Lesbian Character, Literally just gay fluff, Love Confessions, POV Lesbian Character, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukiaa/pseuds/tukiaa
Summary: ➼ of course, it would only be normal for someone to be scared of the unknown, would it not? yeah, that explains why her heart is beating so fast right now.
Relationships: Ichigo | 015/Ikuno | 196
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. i want to dislike you.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enbymitsuba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbymitsuba/gifts).



"Ikuno!"

I jolt up from my seat, a hot, jabbing feeling creeping up my throat. I clutch my book in my hand, my fingers beginning to perspire as it seeps onto the pages written in English.

"Yes, ma'am?" I try to hide the foggy and dense tone that underlies in my words. It doesn't work.

"Read the next paragraph."

I swear in my head, a first for me.

Why now, of all times? Now isn't the best time. Now is the worst time. I've been distracted all day because of one silly person, and my reputation is on the line because of it. 

I've always been the good student. The good Ikuno. The Ikuno that never caused any trouble for the teacher, the Ikuno that stared down from the top at the rest of her classmates with her staggeringly high scores. The Ikuno that received all the praise when her parents approached her teachers. The Ikuno that was sure to get into the best college when her senior year ended. The Ikuno that was so intimidating with her clean appearance and crisp, accurate notes that the last thing she'd have on her mind was a relationship, as would anyone else in pursuing one with her.

Well, that last part was a bit of a half-truth. But with the way my social life is going, such a lie wouldn't interest or reach anyone. 

My eyes dart around the page, slowly but frantically. Not now, not now, not now. It was this paragraph, right?

"The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through..." I can't help it. I waver my voice, the words were still foreign to me as English was never my strong suit. The letters, the pronunciation, the rules, none of it made sense. Things that don't make sense to me scare me more than anything, believe it or not. Not to mention that my ability to keep calm and collected while under pressure in these specific situations is that of a timid preschooler's. 

"Just as I thought," the teacher tsks, going back to the board, "you weren't paying attention. I expected more from you, Ikuno."

Giggles and chortles skitter throughout the relatively quiet classroom like a ripple effect. Each one wriggles its way under my skin, never having brought so much negative attention to myself at once before. 

"Yes, ma'am," I whisper, seating myself back in that disgustingly neat posture I put myself in every time I get up and down from my desk. I try my best to allow the extra comments about my supposed status as the teacher's pet from my classmates go in one ear and out the other, but to not avail. After all, I've always been the Ikuno who stared from above at her classmates below, so immaculate in every aspect that the attention brought to me thinned out day by day. So now that it's all been tainted, it's really starting to piss me off.

"Ichigo, may you correct your classmate?"

It's really starting to-

"Yes, ma'am." 

Ah.

There she is.

"The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left hand at the barrel, and his..." I don't pay attention to the rest. 

Ichigo. A rather dull name, meaning just 15. A fitting name for a dull girl. Dull. Dull. Dull. She's not even that much better than me at English. Her only redeeming feature is a sideways bob cut that's dyed a deep, dark shade of blue. She's clumsy all the time, dropping her earth science book over all. She's naive, having been taken advantage of by more than on student on more than one occasion for projects and essays. So why? Why can't I-

The bell rings. Everyone begins to pile out of the room, shuffling and scraping their chairs. 

I don't like her. I want to loathe her. This is her fault. She won't leave my mind, she won't stop roiling around in my thoughts and the never-ending pit of my stomach and making my eyes throb with such a pain I'd never experienced before. It's handicapped my focus, and the result of all of that buildup displayed itself in front of everyone, no less.

I so desire to hate her. I so desire to claw at my scalp until I've removed every trace of her.

"Hey, Ikuno!"

Her face is at level with mine, her hands placed gently on my desk, as if they belong there.

My voice gets stuck in my throat, balling up in there, and increasing in that excruciating warmth by the second. I manage a few sounds.

"Yes?"

I yearn for nothing more than to detest her and her existence.

"My plans got cancelled with some friends, and my parents aren't home until 4. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me to the cafe down a few blocks until then?"

But I can't.

"O-oh." My hands feel like they're burning under her gaze. I curl my fingers into a fist, feeling the imprint of her eyes on my simmer my insides. Her clip in her hair pushes back some strands to reveal her large, gleaming green eyes. They remind me of olives that ripen as the flowers bloom in May. As much as I don't want to admit it, they're beautiful. "I have some time after school," I finally muster.

"Great! Let's walk there together!" She claps her hands in delight, pulling back her lips to reveal a smile. A smile? For me? I peer up at it in curiosity. Her normally small but pouty lips that she enjoyed to chew on during tests had stretched out to bestow upon me a closed-mouth grin. It arches like calligraphy, the gentleness and beckoning making the back of my eyeballs tinge in aching. Calligraphy. How fitting. It's hard for me to believe, in the moments of the night where everyone has fallen asleep yet I still lay awake with my thoughts and emotions I tried to hide away during class, that she was born into this world. It's like she was written into my story, carefully crafted and drawn with such care that she existed only to turn my emotions over and destroy everything I thought I had known about myself. Any other conclusion with logic in it just didn't make sense.

Things that don't make sense to me scare me more than anything.

I want to dislike you, Ichigo. I really do.

I stand up and gather my things, trailing behind her with sweaty palms.

I want to.


	2. it's simply a coincidence.

I can't quite pinpoint exactly where my infatuation for Ichigo sprouted, now that I think about it. It just came to exist. One day, I looked away from the chalkboard in class for a second and found it resting by my feet peacefully. It gave me no trouble, and simply acknowledged my existence as I did it. So, I paid it no mind. I tucked it into the deepest crevice of my mind and thought that it would shrivel up and die of age as the years went by. I'd be fine, I said. Just ignore it and focus on school, leave no room for emotions to interfere, and you'll be fine.

What a lie.

Nonetheless, it's reached its peak now, at this moment. The slow buildup of the repellent tingling sensations I harbored and tucked away into the most secret and hidden areas of my body of my mind are screaming at me now. Never had I dreamed I'd be here, walking with her to a café of all places. The repeated empty promises I gave to myself every night were never fulfilled, it seems. The promises of doing away with letting emotions interfere and taint your future, the promises of always keeping my nose stuck in a book. If I just kept a wall between me and everyone else, and surrounded myself so much with my studies that my feelings would find no way to include themselves in the mix, I'd be fine.

 _I'd be fine,_ I fibbed to myself grossly as the girl in front of me with the same flowing, blue hair skidded to a stop.

The bell jingles in the delight and excitement of a new face as Ichigo holds the door open for me. Reluctantly, I step inside the café; what ensued was nothing short of an organized chaos.

You see, I'd never been in a café before, much less even seen one, so there were no standards or expectations for what was to be inside to begin with. Almost immediately, I winced at the cacophony of voices and noises. Silverware clattered and a prominent scent of coffee grounds permeated the air. So this is what a café is like, I marvel with a tinge of disgust. As mentioned before, I'd only ever heard of cafés in passing conversations between classmates and maybe read about it in a book or two. It seemed like foreign land to me more than ever, standing in the semi-crowded area with nothing but my schoolbag.

I don't know anything about this place, I realize. Do I sit, do I wait? Do I go up to someone? _I don't know._

It's scary.

I start to question why and when I agreed to this in the first place, forgetting everything that had happened prior and grasping desperately at empty memories which bore no fruit. Strange and unfamiliar things frighten me more than a known death. They scurry into my heart and soul with an invader-like figure and tear at it slowly, making me spiral into a panic at times. I think that's what's happening now, as my grip around the strap of my schoolbag gets clammier and tighter.

"Jeez, Ikuno, you remind me of a child. Did you forget how to walk? If I wasn't paying attention to you just now, you might as well have gotten lost. Come on, then." Her words aren't necessarily the nicest, but Ichigo still says them with a smile on her face. It's disgustingly cute. Quickly, she puts her hand around my wrist and leads me to a table, a spot at the very corner of the café, and pats the seat down next to her after she sits down. I hesitate, trying to collect myself. I can barely process any of it. 

Ichigo, _the_ Ichigo, just had her hand around my wrist. It takes everything in me not to caress the area with my fingers. The spot is still warm from where she held it, as it soothed my searing frigid skin, still chilly from nerves. 

"I'm sorry," is all I can get out. This would have all gone a lot smoother if I wasn't so anxious all the time, so scared of every little thing that I hadn't already known everything about. I'm actually quite the weak-willed and/or -hearted girl, contrary to much of everyone's beliefs. I puff up my ego internally so much that I perceive myself most of the time as this invincible young woman who wouldn't dare let herself get dragged into a world of passion and emotion. Cruelly enough to my self-esteem, however, that image gets cracked easily when I'm put to the test. I break under pressure so easily it's pathetic, and find myself crying and racking in sobs alone at night, when not a soul is there to prey upon my vulnerability. It's tiring, to say the least. It may be why I've grown to admire Ichigo so.

"What are you sorry for?" She turns her head to look at me, cocking it to the side as she makes eye contact with me. Her eyes are big, and the color of thriving leaves that dance joyously in the peak of summer. I want to look away, but by just a single glance they've already furled themselves around me, drowning out every voice and noise that had previously coexisted with us. It's like it's just us. It's almost as if it's not me having to bear the weight of the world anymore.

Stop that.

"Oh, I just," I rip myself away from the staring contest we were having, "we've never really talked to each other much before now, and I've already caused you so much trouble," I begin to subconsciously pick at the hem of my skirt.

"What trouble? You haven't caused me any trouble." Her green eyes brim with incredulousness. "You're so silly sometimes, Ikuno," she giggles and looks up at the menu above the cash register. She speaks as if we've been friends for years, my name melting off her tongue reflexively. 

I hate it.

_Please say it more, just like that._

"Hmm," she hums to only herself as she scans down the list of items, "what would you like, Ikuno?"

"Anything is fine with me." I meant it. I'm not exactly the pickiest.

"Really?" She snaps her head over to me, doing a double take. "Ah, what a relief. Everyone else I've gone with here was always so critical over what they ordered, I always ended up giving into their needs and having to eat one too many unpleasant dishes," she closes her eyes and smiles in embarrassment. Everyone else, I noted to myself. So I'm not the only person she's gone here with. I can't help the strong little pang that cuts through the left part of my chest. I faintly recognize it. I remember the last time I felt this. It was during the annual speech contest my school held, the one I had won in my first year here (I was also the champion for for all three years in my old middle school). Last year, it was different, however. I had overestimated myself, and wasn't thinking.

Love. I had to talk about love.

Something I'd never experienced, with no prior knowledge of it other than broken analogies like "love is a drug" and every adjective imaginable thrown around to form a barely cohesive description of it. 

What was it that I felt when Fukawa Himari got crowned first place instead of me? It was an emotion I hid deep inside of me, secured under lock and key because it was so overwhelming, so thriving, I got scared of it and - in the maelstrom of fear and confusion - forgot about it entirely.

Despair? Rage? Disgust, maybe?

Or jealousy.

"Hello, Earth to Ikuno." Her hand is on my shoulder. I flinch, maybe a bit too obviously. "Their employees are really fast. You looked like you were thinking about something really hard, so I just went and ordered everything and picked it up."

"Oh," I try to regain my composure, swatting at the traumatic memory from last year like a noxious gas, "it's nothing really. I was just thinking about college entrance exams."

"This early? I usually don't worry about it until a few months before." I take the time to look at the plate she set down. It's just a chocolate cake with matcha powder sprinkled on top of it. Anyhow, it looks expensive, and I had money for it too. I frown a bit at this, not wanting to have burdened Ichigo any more than I already had. "But that's Ikuno for you. You're always so smart and reserved, I'm honestly a bit surprised I was able to get you all the way here," she admits, cutting the fork cleanly through the cake. It's actually a lava cake, I realize as chocolate spills out of it and gets absorbed again as it pools around the baked good. I don't notice the tip of my tongue has gotten wetter as something began to gather to the front of my mouth.

"The third year may be crucial towards preparations for college examinations, but I don't mind taking some time to myself every once in a while," I say in a low voice so that only she could hear me.

"Are you ok with this?" She suddenly asks, and I look up to see a few stray crumbs at the corner of her plump lips. Her cheeks are stuffed, puffed up like a chipmunk. I remember someone in class passing around a picture on their phone of those; chipmunks, I mean. It had at least 4 different acorns shoved into its throat, the sides of its mouth inflated like balloons, almost as big as its eyes. It was - how do you put it - endearing? Cute?

"Ok?" I repeat, feeling the same heat I experienced before claw at my neck. What did she mean by that? Why is that question getting me so riled up for absolutely no reason at all?

"The cake, I mean. You haven't touched it."

"Oh!" I feel myself get brought back to land, the comfortable ground resting easily below my feet. "No, I'm totally okay with it. Well, to be honest, I've never had lava cake before, so I wouldn't know if I entirely like it or not-" Ichigo's voice cuts through my tangent like the silver fork she grips between her fingers.

"What?" Her voice is so obviously tainted with disbelief. Is it that strange? "Then, I'm sure it was fate for you to come here with me." Her unwavering smile that put even the clouds and the stars to shame appeared just for me again. She reaches for the fork on the other side of the tray, picking it up oh-so-delicately, just as she always does when she opens her bento and cradles the chopsticks in her grasp to dig in. A nice chunk is picked up, and I watch with an infantile, curious stare as she holds up the lump of chocolate-laden cake to my lips. I make eye contact with it, unsure of what came before or what is to come next. 

_Isn't this the thing they do in romance movies?_

"Well?" She urges, brushing the piece against my lips. "My arm is getting tired, Ikuno." 

_Is this what they do on dates?_

_Dates?_

The word sends a flurry of panic upon my heart, and I begin to feel my pent up emotions course from my chest to my hands, the sweat perspiring like a despairful mire in my palms. 

Reluctantly, with a mind begging that she can't see the subtle trembling of my fingers and lips, I open my mouth slightly to allow the cake in. She carefully ushers the fork in, and I clamp down around it.

If we're being blunt, I don't really like chocolate. Or fate. Both of them together are nausea-inducing.

Fate isn't something I've ever been inclined to believe in. It's either a coincidence, or it isn't. That's how I've always divided things in my life. The fact that I've never had lava cake, and she just so happened to order it on the day I betrayed myself was merely a coincidence. Speaking of lava cake, chocolate wasn't all too pleasant either. It's far too sweet for my taste, and the way it lathers around my tongue is kind of repulsive.

But, I don't really mind it right now. The chocolate feels nice. It's sweet, but it runs down my throat easily and comforts me like the mother I never had.

If I can like chocolate, then maybe the idea of fate isn't such a bad idea either.


	3. but, please, melt me.

The time in the café was a short one, I think. I check the time on my watch, and it reads 4 P.M., signaling that I'd been in there, alone, with just Ichigo, for an hour. The mere remembrance of the warm cake in my mouth, and the few moments when her thigh brushed against mine and her breath got too close to my nape and chills I didn't know I could get tormented my body were still fresh in my mind. Rather, they came rushing to me all at once when I escaped through the door with her and I got all sense I lacked knocked into me when the cool autumn breeze rushed into my ability to perceive.

She insisted on walking me home, as if she was a man and this was a date. _Date_. I didn't dare think of that word again since the beginning of our time in that godforsaken café. Just the mere thought of it made my limbs go stiff and my heart threaten to jettison out of my mouth. I hated that feeling. I'd never experienced such terror, such uncertainty before. I despised it, loathed it, I was horrified by it.

"Hey, Ikuno?"

"Hm?" I'm ripped away from the vertigo that was known as my thoughts. She skids to a stop, and I follow along with her. Ichigo is a mere five feet, which is quite laughable in itself when she's compared to my towering stance of 5'7". How pathetic for me. With just a simple brushing of her fingertip up my arm, be it accidental or on purpose, the girl could twist my emotions into a whirlpool of pure confusion and embarrassment. I peer down at her expectant eyes, full of its signature livelihood and thoughtfulness.

"You have something over here," she pokes the space between her cheek and the corner of her mouth.

"Here?" I struggle to wipe it off. Normally, at home, I wouldn't notice any stray food sprinkling my complexion until I went to go wash up, and took a good stare at myself in the mirror.

"No, silly." Her eyes betray her words, as they increasingly get fuller with focus. There's something mixing in with her deep concentration, something I've never seen in a person upfront, in person and in the flesh. Actually, I may have remembered seeing it that one time, when my aunt and uncle invited my parents and me to their wedding. I was sitting diagonally from the bride, with no choice but to pay attention to their "I do's" and to smile and clap and not embarrass my mother and father. My aunt's eyes were fixed upon her husband's, totally encompassed with something I couldn't describe in a million years. Give me all the paper, all the ink in the world and I'd never be able to even begin to grasp how she looked in that moment.

"It's right..." Ichigo's voice trails off as she reaches her hand up again. Her fingertips almost caress my cheek, and I could have sworn she was drawing small shapes around it. Ichigo drags her thumb softly across my skin, and I see a few crumbs drop to the floor. "There! Wow, your cheeks are really soft, Ikuno," she coos, retracting her hand and turning back around, walking along as if nothing had happened. 

I don't realize I've been holding in my breath until her footsteps patter in front of me. I don't realize my heart has been pounding against my chest until her face was no longer in my view. I don't realize that my fingers have gone numb and my throat has tightened ever so narrow until she's started humming a hushed tune under the veil of the fall air a few meters in front of me. I struggle to stabilize my breathing and my worried heart as I realize the distance between us. Hesitantly, and with the energy of a timid child, I follow closely behind her. At one point, I even muster the gumption to walk alongside her. How strange, I note as my pace gets slightly quicker so that I'm in front of her and guiding the way towards my house, she was walking in front of me as if she knew the way home. I don't think too much of it, as I'm still far too focused on steadying my breathing and calming my frenzied heart to question Ichigo's walking, of all things.

The day is a forgiving one, at least. The leaves have begun to brown with the frigidness and gathered at the roots of trees. A nice gust of wind calmly whispers its secrets to both of us as it permeates the once-stagnant air. 

_It's nice_ , I think.

I almost pass my front door, too lost in the thought of the beckoning autumn and rather intrusive thoughts of the girl next to me that I might have traveled a few more blocks before realizing my mistake.

"Here's me, I guess." My voice trails off at the end, preceding a short but pregnant pause. I thought I'd be ecstatic to leave, seeing as taking time to myself - and to go to a _café,_ of all things! - was always the last thing I had in mind. But, I don't want to leave. As much as I hate the thought of wanting to stay by someone's side, hell, as much as I hate the idea of infatuation, I still don't want to leave. I wish I could have recorded a video. Maybe then I could revisit today sometime in the future, seeing as I'd probably never get such a chance ever again. 

Regrets entangle themselves in my words and in the air that hangs above us.

"Well then," I'm the first to break the quietude I started. "I'll just get going-"

My sentence never got finished. My words of such strain and hidden longing became swept away with the wind and forgotten in the blink of an eye as my back got pressed against my door. Warmth. It was autumn, but a comforting warmth had pressed itself against my front, encompassing my chest and thighs and abdomen as a whole. Two hands cupped my cheeks, holding them with such fragility I had even convinced myself that I could fall apart at any given moment. And I did.

For as long as I could recall, my life had been nothing but a one-way street, my vision blurred into tunnel vision. I promised not only myself but those around me in my silence that my emotions would never get the best of me. I, Ikuno, was far too strong and focused on anything but that to allow it to even begin to get a grasp on me.

I hope they can forgive me just this once, for I lied.

A kiss was just one of those things I never saw myself experiencing. What was even the point of it? What was I supposed to do in it? They don't teach you that in school, or in class, nor can you find that information in any textbook. I could never figure out all of its nuances and kinks without tackling it head-on. Otherwise, I knew nothing of it. I'd even go as far as to say it struck a certain fear in me, what with the way not a single professor or lecturer could even mention the topic without getting red in the face. What as so bad about it? Whatever it was, it must be hair-raising.

But why wasn't it so terrifying now? Now, as Ichigo enveloped her lips with mine, moving them as if this was such a frequent occurrence between the two of us it had become muscle memory. She touched me in all the right places, and I can say for sure this time that she's drawing as many shapes as there exists in the world on my cheeks. It tickles, but I don't allow myself to laugh or giggle, being too joined together with this moment to bother to respond to anything but her touch and emotions.

The kiss is warm. That's the only way I can describe it. It hums lowly with the affection I could only dream of receiving from any parental figure in my life. Her lips are sweet, and they taste ever so faintly of chocolate. The flavor doesn't bother me anymore, I note as I cradle the back of her head in one hand and respond to her kiss. The movements come naturally, and I feel as if I'd been greeting an old friend.

 _It's not so scary anymore_ , the thought passes by me, as if I were a toddler getting over her fear of dogs - this is so childish!

Yet, I can't bring myself to pull away.

Her words speak to me in hushed whispers and in comforting songs with just the right amount of melancholic tones through our kiss. I feel her emotions overtake me and break me down into nothing but putty, and my grip around her waist only gets tighter as I desperately cling onto her.

 _I want to dislike you, Ichigo_.

We finally force ourselves apart after what felt like hours, the cold breeze greeting the inside of my mouth as I take deep breaths. I look down at her.

_I want to say this is all a coincidence, that you're wrong in every way._

I don't feel like the Ikuno I once knew myself as. The frigid, calculated Ikuno that wouldn't let anyone come near her. I don't know where she went. Did she get lost somewhere? Did she simply disappear?

_I want to forget about you in the blink of an eye, for you've done nothing but harry me._

_No_ , I reassure myself. She simply began to melt. Just as easily as her hidden and carefully tucked away emotions overtook her, the flame that had ignited in them started the process of heating her down into something warm and flexible. How could such a thing have happened to the poor girl?

 _Right_ , I scold myself, realizing I'm looking at the answer. We're still standing in front of each other, our gazes locked like magnets. Her eyes are full of feelings, feelings that I'd only seen and gotten confused by once in my life in a small little wedding, and they were now threatening to spill out and mix in with her tears that had already - mind you - begun to pool at her waterline. _I need to say something_ , I tell myself. My mind sifts through every word known to man, every word that I could use at this moment. It reaches and it grabs in my sea of passion and intensity that I had harbored for so long and that had come pouring out all at once. In the end, I only murmur two words, two pathetic and silly words before I give her a kiss prostrated with fervor and open the door to my home to drag her in with me.

_But, please,_

"Melt me."


End file.
